Blessed Be Her Peacemaker
by SplatDragon
Summary: Her Person is groaning, and grunting, pain-scent soaking the air and making her skittish. His hands have slacked from the reins, and she keeps running, seeking a path she knows, one that will lead to home. He refuses to let her stop and rest, nudging her insistently, and although she protests she doesn't mind, not really. "C'mon, girl, get me home."


Her Person is screaming, and she wants to get to him.

These are nasty people, and she hasn't seen her Person in days. She can hear him, though, and he's _hurting_, and he hasn't whistled for her but she thinks maybe he can't, and wants to go to him. But those people have tied her reins tight, and her neck hurts from pulling too hard and too suddenly, and she's thirsty and hungry and bitten up from their ill-tempered horses.

Those people have tried to ride her, but only Her Person can do that, and she'd dumped them on the ground. They were furious, and her flanks sting from the beating, but she has never been ridden by anyone else, and doesn't intend on it, either.

Her Person hadn't come with them willingly.

They'd ridden out with that man who smelled of _rat _and Her Person's Person, and Her Person had sounded upset. But he went with them, as he always did, as loyal to His Person as she was to hers, and left her to graze with the prissy stallion who had a nasty temper, and the quiet gelding whose Person didn't care for him. But The Gelding loved his Person, as all horses do, and she was sorry for it.

Her Person had come back—not alone, but without His Person or the gelding's Person. He was slung across a mare's rump, like so many of the humans she carried, and he smelled of old fear. He didn't call for her, didn't whistle or bid her to follow, but she wasn't tied down and she didn't know them, and he never left her alone for long, so she left The Stallion and The Gelding to graze (they could take care of themselves after all, The Appaloosa wasn't around and so she was the lead mare, but Her Person was far more important) and took off after them.

Her Person had been taken by _bad men_, and she was furious.

He had tried to escape, once, bolting towards her, and she had pranced in a circle, ready to _go_, but there had been an awful gunshot and the scent of blood and pain, and he'd gone down. And they'd stolen him away from her again, and she followed him as she always would.

They traveled far, through rivers and forests, but she never wandered far. Kept pace with the _bad men's _horses, trailing beside them as she always did when Her Person took another horse, having her ride at his side. She watched Her Person, smelling his blood and confusion and pain, but she could do nothing against humans, could only wait for Her Person to need her, and be ready when he did.

Her Person is running, and the air cracks with gunfire.

She rears, screaming as she fights desperately against her reins, wanting to run _away _and wanting to run to his side, but she knows better than to run to him when _those sounds _are in the air unless he summons her, and so she joins the others in their panic.

But her reins are stuck tight, leaving her to pull at them desperately, surrounded by fear-scent, thirst-weakened body giving out and leaving her to drop back down, pawing at the ground.

The air is quiet, then, only labored breathing and her own pants to break the silence. A hand settles on her neck, pulls heavily on her halter, and if she hadn't raised her head she would have killed Her Person, put a hoof through his skull. She is _ so glad _to see him, and whickers a greeting as he undoes the tie, hauling himself onto her bare back.

He's heavy, and he hits her harder than he ever does to get her moving, smells of _blood _and _sick _and _fear_. But he's _Her Person _and so she allows it, whirling and barreling off down the path. She knows to _always _follow the path, unless he tells her not to, and he's leaning heavily against her, barely moving the reins, so she does what she knows and sticks to the path.

Her Person jolts upright, hissing a curse in her ear.

There are lights, the sounds of approaching hooves up ahead, and she can feel him tense above her. His fear spreads to her, it always does, and she throws her head but keeps going, straight towards the scent of gunpowder and alcohol, would happily ride over a cliff if he only asked.

The bit _hurts_, he yanks on her reins too hard, and she wheels, hooves skidding on the ground. He only needs to twitch his hands to make her move, yet he's treating her as roughly as The Gelding's Person treats him. Her Person curses again, tugging her the other way, and for once she fights him, stamping her hooves. He's not acting _right_, is pulling so hard she almost turns clear around, but refuses. He pulls on the reins again, still hard but not nearly as badly as before, and she prances a circle before darting towards the lights.

The Horse's Person falls from his back, a sudden gunshot between her ears making them pin back. But she knows the sound of gunfire, had been made to stand tied while Her Person practiced until she stopped panicking, and keeps going as first one, and then another, Horses' Persons fall from the saddle. She charges in, scattering those that had lost their Person's, uncaring.

Her Person is groaning, and grunting, pain-scent soaking the air and making her skittish.

His hands have slacked from the reins, and she keeps running, seeking a path she _knows_, one that will lead to home. He refuses to let her stop and rest, nudging her insistently, and although she protests she doesn't mind, not really. Her Person only asks of her what he must, never more than she can handle, and if he needs her to run and run and run until she drops and can run no more then she'll do so happily.

_"C'mon, girl, get me home." _

And she may not always understand him, may only understand those few vital words, but she knows _home_. Home, where her herd is. Home, where the Red Gelding's Person who always stinks of fear-scent will rub her down, feed her peaches and give her water. Home, where Her Person's Persons will make sure he's okay. _Home_, where everything is always, in the end, okay. Where they're safe, and together like a herd should be.

Her Person goes quiet, she can't say quite when.

He slumps on her neck, hands limp on the reins. The scent of blood is there, still, but weaker; he still reeks of pain, even as he sleeps.

She takes comfort in the sound of his breathing, and they ride, and ride, and ride. At some point she gives in, has to slow down and trot, legs and lungs screaming. But she refuses to stop, only taking a break long enough to drink and drink and drink when she crosses a stream, wanting desperately to get them home like he'd asked.

Her Person falls from her saddle, and she _fears_.

She has never seen him lose his seat, not even once. But he does, groans and hits the ground with a thud, and she dances an anxious circle before nearing. To horses, humans are akin to Gods, but they are so, so fragile and she fears somehow making this worse.

She nudges him, trying to goad him to his feet like she would a slow foal. But he only groans, pressing his hand against her nose; he reeks of gun-smoke and blood and fear, but nevertheless leans into the touch, relieved to see him moving.

_"It's okay, girl. I just… need to rest." _

And she lets him, for a moment, grazing and standing over him protectively, but his breathing starts to even out and she can't let him sleep, so she nudges him until he groans and grabs her neck. He's heavy, but she raises her head to help him up, and he slings himself onto her back and spurs her into motion, and they're gone.

Her Person is barely awake.

His breathing is slow, and he keeps jolting when she turns. It's a good thing she knows the way home, recognizes these paths, as he hasn't touched her reins in hours. But the scent of blood and fear is dull, and fading. She's tired, has pushed herself too hard, and can only maintain a slow walk.

But they're _so close_, and she hears her herd. It bolsters her forward, and she breaks into an awkward lope. A gun cocks, and The Appaloosa's Person calls out, but Her Person doesn't respond and she doesn't either, bolting passed.

She's not allowed into the camp, not passed the tents, no horse is, but she goes into it anyway, throwing her head as she comes to a stop. Her Person groans, and tries to climb off her back, collapsing the moment he hits the ground.

He smells of _pain, _and she worries.

But the Horseless Persons are running over, and Her Person's Person is there, too.

She doesn't want to leave him, but both of Her Person's Persons are leading him away, and the Red Gelding's Person has hold of her reins, mash in his hands, and she is _so hungry_.

There is a great commotion as he takes her to the lake, yelling and _fear-scent _and _anger-scent_, and he doesn't let her look. But she had stopped worrying when her Person's Persons had reached him; they will fix him. They always have, and they always will.


End file.
